


As I Am

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: Death, Dreams, Edo Tensei, Gen, Hashirama's birthday, Memories, Mokuton, War, challange fic, loose chain of stories, mentions of Hashirama's love for Madara, more gen than yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was born at wartime and most probably will die in a war too. That’s the frame for any shinobi’s life. All the rest: family, love, dreams, memories – the techniques we fight with to protect them, the decisions we make - determine who we are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Am

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hashirama week on Tumblr – a short fic for each day that together will make a loose chain of stories. Mentions of HashiMada.  
> Happy Birthday Hashirama!

  


**War**

 

I was born at wartime. As the first son of the Senju clan’s leader, my arrival to the world could have been a celebrated event. But father was away fighting at the time on faraway lands, responding the call of the lords of the Firecountry. As he’d told my mother to do before he went, she dutifully named me after my grandfather - Hashirama.

 

Years later, when I was already able to understand and remember her words, she liked to tell me about the last days of her pregnancy - how it was an unexpectedly sunny and warm autumn, how she spent her time sitting under an old maple tree, looking at the sun shining through the red leafs, casting rust-coloured shadows on her face. How absurd she found the tranquillity and beauty of nature near the compound, when the majority of the clan was away fighting, and those remaining behind couldn’t be sure who of them would return alive.

 

How worried she was for her husband. She loved him deeply and despite all his shortcomings, I’m sure father loved her as well. He certainly showed her tenderness he never showed to his sons.

 

Yet, he spent more time away than with her, doing what he considered the only reason to justify shinobi’s existence - fighting.  He was busy with war on each occasion when my brothers were born too. He was not at home either when mother collapsed a few days after Itama’s birth, nor during those two weeks when Tobirama and I sat vigil next to her - though he was only four at the time, my little brother was already too wilful to listen to me and leave her side. Rather, he was with me until the last weak flutter of her heart.

 

By the time father came back, we already buried her. Is it petty of me that I could never quite forgive him for his absence? For leaving me alone with the weight of it all. Tobirama who just refused to shed a tear, clinging to me silently as if afraid that if he let me go, I’ll disappear too, but not saying a world. Crying Kawarama, who couldn’t possibly understand what happened, and demanded that I let him see mother. Itama, who didn’t even get the chance to remember her gentle smile. But the worst of all, for his stoic, emotionless face when I told him the news. That he offered me no comfort, not even the small one of allowing me to see that he was hurt by mother passing away.

 

Decades had to pass for me to understand how he had to be suffering. How he couldn’t afford to let his emotions overtake him as that would have made him crumble. It’s ironic that I had to stare down at the body of my best friend who I just killed to finally be able to relate to my father, for me to comprehend that keeping yourself together when all you want to do is to wail your loss is the most painful thing a man has to endure.

 

But at the time of my mother’s death I was only turning seven, I was hurt and confused and feeling very angry at the mad world of adults. Father was always a distant, authoritative figure - we were never close and I couldn’t understand him at all. It didn’t help that I’ve just reached the age he considered old enough for entering the true life of shinobi.

 

The night before I went to my first war, I lay sleepless, staring at the ceiling. I’m not ashamed to say I was afraid. I was seven and expected to fight and kill grownups. I’ve seen the injuries our men suffered in battles - not just cuts and bruises, but limbs torn off, flesh and bones mangled and leaving them distorted for life. We didn’t have capable healers at the time.

 

And I’ve also seen the dead. Not just the ones, like my mother, who died in illness, but those who was brought back headless, body torn in two, or burnt to the point beyond recognition.

 

Tobirama crawled over to my futon in the middle of the night and hold onto me tightly with his strong little arms and legs. He didn’t say anything - he had always been a silent, solemn kid, and in those past few weeks since mother died, he was even more so. I wished he would cry, so I could do so too. Like this I had to remain strong. I was the eldest after all, I couldn’t frighten him.

 

When dawn broke, I had to peel his fingers off me, he didn’t want to let go. He peered up at me, frowning - he did master that expression way too early on.

 

“I’m coming with you, brother,” he stated, not asked, his pale face serious.

 

“No, you can’t,” I whispered back, trying not to wake Kawarama sleeping on the next mattress. “But there’s nothing to worry about. I’m well prepared and I’ll be back real soon anyhow. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

 

Tobirama was too young to know I was lying. I put on a brave face for his sake and because showing weakness was the greatest sin in the eye of our father. I ruffled his white hair when he walked with us to the borders of the encampment. It was the same colour as mother’s had been. I remember how I wished my looks were more like hers as well - it disturbed me that I mostly took after father.

 

I consider that the last day of my childhood.

 

I did well in war. Father had high hopes in me, I showed signs of extraordinary strength from an early age after all, and I didn’t disappoint. My rebelling only came years later.

 

I’ll remember the face of the first man I killed forever, will remember how his eyes were opened wide in surprise, the agony of death reflecting in them, how they became glassy as his heart stopped beating. I’ll remember the warm blood that poured out onto my hand holding the kunai. How it took more effort to tore out the blade from his body than it did to sink into his heart. The dull thud when his corpse hit the ground.

 

The rest is a blur. My body moved on instinct, using the techniques I learned during practice. My mind was somewhere else, or rather it was empty, trying to distance itself from the terrors.

 

The Senju were victorious on that day. My father told me he was proud of me - it wasn’t something he said before, or indeed, ever after. I couldn’t do more than just nod. I really just wished to be back home, among my younger brothers and pretend I was still the same boy as was before the battle.

 

I can still recall my dream the night after - I was sitting below the old maple tree, waiting for mother, but she never came. The leaves were falling - they all turned red with the blood that soaked the ground around me.

  


**Mokuton**

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Tobirama, I asked you not to stare! I can’t concentrate like this!”

 

“I’m just helping.”

 

“But you’re not.  You’re simply making me frustrated. Why don’t you go and find Itama and Kawarama?”

 

“I just want to see how you do it.”

 

I sighed and gave up. Tobirama couldn’t be deterred if it was about learning something new. He was nine, but more than enthusiastic about different jutsus and techniques. I knew that he was peeved when father told him _Mokuton_ was something he wouldn’t be able to learn. He still stayed around to _help,_ frowning with obvious disappointment at the pitiful saplings that I managed to summon.  

 

I tried to ignore his presence and concentrate on the flow of my chakra only. There had to be a trick to it, I thought, just as with other elemental techniques. I just had to figure it out, finding the right way…

 

I knew I got the knack of if this time before I actually did anything - I felt the power moving through me, down into the soil under my feet and up from the ground, taking over my network of chakra, merging in my body until I couldn’t tell what was coming from me and what was coming from nature itself. It was the most peculiar feeling, the way I managed to control this amazing force for the first time, the way the rush of power filled me with ecstasy.

 

By the age of twelve I was already a confident user of two elemental types, even if I couldn’t claim I was such a master of them as Tobirama later mastered Water techniques. But this was different. I knew with clarity that using this unique force, this wood release was what I was made for. It didn’t matter that I wouldn’t have a teacher for it, that I’d have to figure all jutsus out on my own. I _knew_ I could do it.

 

I was the lord of nature for a moment, able to turn and twist it to my taste. I _felt_ the ancient trees around me, their solemn, passive strength, their roots in the ground under my soles, the water, sun and earth that fed them. Their power was mine – nothing seemed impossible with me in charge of them. Goosebumps rose on my skin, arousal stirred my groin, but I was too caught up in my discovery to be embarrassed about it as I normally would have been.

 

The ground shook under my feet then opened up as a tree erupted, growing skywards with amazing speed. It knocked me off my feet and I landed disgracefully on my arse. It snapped me out of my dazed state and I quickly concentrated on stopping, forming the tree to my taste.

 

Then I just collapsed back, staring up at it and started to laugh. I did it. I finally did it. After a month of trying, of my father asking me each day of my progress and being dissatisfied with it. After so much work, the desperation of thinking I’d never be able to master this element, I finally did it.

 

“You did it! You actually did it!” Tobirama shouted, running up to me, echoing my thoughts. I caught him and wrestled him to the ground. We both were grinning like mad, and though only minutes before I was very annoyed with him keeping an eye on me and commenting my previous less than successful attempts, I was now glad he was there.

 

“You don’t have to sound so surprised about it!” I punched his shoulder playfully. He giggled, his self-enforced seriousness slipping away. I so loved to see him laugh - he always had been too solemn, ever since he sat by my side, watching as mother faded out from life. Even more so since he also started to come to war with us, trying to look after me just as much as I tried to look after him.

 

That afternoon we allowed ourselves the luxury of doing nothing, just sitting under the large maple that grew on my command and stared up at the lush canopy. My excitement was gone, leaving only tired satisfaction in its wake. I felt at peace with my little brother by my side. Felt proud as well for being able to impress him for once.

 

“You have to show it to Itama and Kawarama too,” he was saying, his strong, warm little body offering a comforting heat against mine. He didn’t object as he usually did when I pulled him close. “I’m sure they’ll be amazed. Just wait ‘till dad sees it too,” he was so enthusiastic that not even the mention of our father managed to dampen my cheerfulness. By that time I was already starting to question his way of thinking, which he couldn’t tolerate at all. It wasn’t the full-blown tension that built up between us in the years to come, but the seeds were already planted for it. “Do you think he was really right, and I won’t be able to learn this? I already know Water release - so if I also learn Earth as you did, then maybe…”

 

“Yeah,” I smiled at him. “It’s not as if he knows everything. And if you can’t learn this, I’m still sure there are many other jutsus you’ll know that I won’t. Give it a few years and nobody can stop us in battle.”

 

“Especially if Kawarama and Itama will be on our side too.”

 

“Exactly. If we brothers stick together, no harm can come to any of us.”

 

I wish that could have turned out to be truth. We both were so naive then.

 

 

**Edo Tensei**

 

In the days of my childhood the average lifespan of shinobi was around thirty years. What lowered it was the death of all those who died so terribly young like Kawarama and Itama. Died before they turned ten, before they even reached adolescent. People like my father could lie to themselves, they could claim they were full-fledged shinobi who died on the line of duty, but that didn’t change the horror of truth. They could become colder and bitterer with each son they lost to be able to stand sending the remaining ones off to die. They could blame the other clans or the gods themselves, but in reality they were the ones responsible, the ones who had the possibility within their reach, but still didn’t do anything to stop the killings.

 

I blame my father. To this very day, I blame him. I understand him more than I used to, now, that I’m past the age he ever lived to, now that I lost and regretted so many things, but this I can’t forgive him.

 

We buried Kawarama in a coffin that was large enough for an adult, though he took up the tiniest space in it - only his head and one of his arms were retrieved from the battlefield. Father told us we should be grateful we have that at least.

 

Itama, though his body was whole, looked heart-wrenchingly small in the coffin too. He was the lightest in build of the four of us - I don’t think he would have grown into the bulk Tobirama and I inherited from father even if he’d been allowed to live into his adulthood. But he hadn’t been - he died young, with terror etched onto his features. He must have been petrified in the moment of his death. Who knows what the last thing he saw was?

 

Tobirama and I - we both dealt with their deaths on our own ways. On our own, very different ways.

 

I should have been there for him. I was the oldest, the stronger - I should have offered him comfort. But I could hardly talk to him - he closed up, turned inwards. And… I guess I distanced myself from him as well. I was afraid I would just lose him too, so I chose the coward’s way and tried to get farther from him, so if he was to die, it would hurt less. We used to be too close, we were through so many things together already, and his death would have been more unbearable than my younger brothers’.

 

So I rather escaped our compound whenever I could, to sit by the river, to stare at the waves and wish them to wash away my pains.

 

As my fate would have it, I met Madara there and fell in love.

 

Fell in love with him as a person and also with the possibility he represented -  the chance of changing the world, with the wonderful, new outlook of my future, where I had him by my side, this stranger, this boy I didn’t know at all, and yet felt him being closer to me than anyone else.

 

It was so easy, pretending he wasn’t from a hostile clan, so much easier to lie to myself that no danger threatened him as it did my last remaining brother. That I could take it for granted that he’d show up on our next meeting, that we could spar and joke and race. That we’d always be like that, we could always just huddle together and plan a better future, a village where we and our brothers could live in peace.

 

Even when I was home, my thoughts were busy with Madara. I can just imagine how lonely I made Tobirama feel, with me being there but still far away.

 

So he dealt with all his losses and solitude on his own way. He had always been a studious, serious kid, so I never thought much about him busying himself with scrolls or going away to practice new jutsus.

 

He was seventeen when he first showed me Edo Tensei, his brilliant, horrible creation. But I knew that the idea of it was born that time, I didn’t even have to ask. I had been fourteen and in love - he was just eleven and very much alone. He denied that he ever wanted to use it on our family, but if anyone knows Tobirama, it’s me, and I’m sure he was lying on that account.

 

It’s not as if I don’t see the potential of it. It’s not as if I never thought about seeing mother and our brothers for a last time. But the price of that jutsu is too high. To sacrifice someone living to bring the dead back into this twisted existence… It consumes the caster’s soul. But Tobirama waved my objections away, claiming I was simply too soft. Saying that it wasn’t more or less than any other technique he could use to defeat our enemy, that I should just evaluate it without getting overemotional and I’d see its merit.

 

He never admitted that he wanted to summon our family back from behind the grave -or if he ever actually did it - and I never pushed him.

 

Nor did I ever admit when I was lured by his technique.

 

When I stared down at Madara’s body, when I collapsed next to the man who used to be the meaning of life for me, when later I gathered some strength and brought his corpse back to Konoha - the temptation of asking my brother to use Edo Tensei was consuming. But I couldn’t betray both of them so much - I was already burdened by my treason of Madara and the hurt I caused for my brother. So I only see Madara in my dreams and I make half-hearted attempts to warn Tobirama against using the jutsu.

 

But at the time of its invention – or rather, it’s exposure to me – I couldn't possibly know yet what our future would bring. I just stared at my teen brother, horror and awe mixing in me seeing his ruthless brilliance. His face was emotionless as he summoned back the dead – he sacrificed one Uchiha, who was of no importance – to bring back one that held a rank and could provide us with vital information about his clan - but his eyes darted to search mine, wanting to see my approval. He made this mock-of-life show his jutsus, and he could perform everything he used to be capable of, even if not with the same level of power. His movements were a bit rugged, not so smooth as an alive shinobi’s would have been, and he only had traces of his old personality. In later years Tobirama made many improvements on the technique.

 

I didn’t let him use it in battle against the Uchiha. I was striving to make peace with them for over two years, ever since I became the leader of our clan. It didn’t look as if Madara would be willing to listen to my offers ever, and if we sent his reanimated men against him, even that slim chance of success would have become non-existent.

 

We had a nasty argument with Tobirama over it. Though he followed my command in battle and most of the time was careful not to berate me if others could overhear, he was prone to criticise my methods in private. He could never understand my connection with Madara – my friendship as I called the all-consuming love I felt for him. I don’t think I ever managed to fool my brother – though we became more distant than we used to be in our childhood, we still knew each other very well.

 

He knew of my feelings towards my friend and I knew his befuddlement with it.

 

He could never forgive the Uchiha for killing our brothers and our father, even if our clan – and we personally too – were responsible for many sons’ and fathers’ death on the other side as well.

 

That afternoon, when I failed to praise him for his years of hard work and rather wanted to forbid him to ever use his creation again, he couldn’t hide his hurt and disappointment in me.

 

“Stop being such a fool, brother!” he growled, stepping close up to me. At seventeen, he was almost at the full height he reached in adulthood, close to mine. He was considered threatening, more than me, with his white hair and reddish eyes. He played on the effect, painting his face with battle marks and wearing a fur collar around his armour in battle that showed him larger. The white bear, I heard him being called behind his back and it wasn’t said with a snigger. Maybe it infuriated him that he could never intimidate me.  “You can’t afford to throw such a useful weapon away. As our leader you must not show softness.”

 

“Tobirama… You know that I’m aiming for peace. If we use your Edo Tensei - that will never come. And also… to kill in war is one thing. To sacrifice the living so easily - that’s another.”

 

“You and your talk of peace! Why don’t you open your eyes, and _see,_ brother? Madara will never agree to this peace of yours. You’re sacrificing our people in vain each day when we don’t crush the Uchiha!”

 

“Don’t you remember when we talked about this as kids…”

 

“I don’t live in the past like you do. You can never make peace if you don’t show your strength, if you’re being humble. You need to set the rules - and you can only do that if you prove yourself, prove our clan to be the strongest. Then the others will bow their heads to it…”

 

“That takes us nowhere. How long have our people been following that bloody path, and did it lead to anywhere…?”

 

“Why don’t you even just listen to me? Brother! You have to accept that you can’t build your future - the future of our whole clan - on dreams of the past. You need to move on - we _have to_ defeat Uchiha Madara to make his people bow their head to your will. _That_ is your path of peace.”

 

“Tobirama… That may be your path, but not mine.”

 

“That is the only way. If you’re not willing to follow it - maybe you shouldn’t lead us at all.”

 

I gaped at him, loss for words. In the back of my mind I realized that I hurting him made him say that. But he never questioned my right as a leader before - he made doubtful comments on my intelligence, my toughness, my realism, but he also made it obvious he’d be there with me always, that no matter what happened I could count on him. He was my only family left.

 

“That’s…” he rode me over and I was glad, as I didn’t know what to say.

 

“Forget it,” he cast his eyes sideways, before looking back at me. “I just think that you shouldn’t throw something like this away - such a useful weapon and all my hard work - only because of… Madara.”

 

“Brother,” I caught him by surprise and hugged him before he could protest. He was smart, so I hoped he’d understand my meaning behind it, even if he wasn’t the best when it came to accept emotions. That Madara was Madara, and I couldn’t deny that getting his friendship back was one of my main motives, but also that I needed him, that I couldn’t continue without him.

 

He sighed and returned my embrace rather awkwardly. Even though he couldn’t use it in battle, he never complained why I was prohibiting Edo Tensei again, even if I knew he continued to fiddle with it.

 

Nor did he accuse my incapability as a leader again, leaving me to wonder later if he was right about it that one time he did.

  


**Konoha**

 

I was barely older than seventeen when father died and the elders of our clan named me as the next leader. From right on, I made it obvious that I wanted to end the eternal war between us and the Uchiha. At first not many believed I could do it - or wanted me to make it come true - but I was far the strongest and under my lead they kept winning battles, and that was enough for them to support me.

 

Tobirama - he thought me plain crazy and he never hesitated to tell me so when it was only the two of us. He endured my talks about the brighter, better future that lay ahead of us, but he made sure to always wear a suffering expression while I was at it.

 

I can only recall one time when I could light some enthusiasm in him. It was the day he turned eighteen. I decided to remark the occasion with getting drunk with my not-so-little brother. Our relationship was rocky most of the time - that argument over the Edo Tensei from a year ago and the constant tension that my connection with Madara caused didn’t let us to get back to how we used to be in our childhood. Maybe that was one of my impossible dreams anyhow - there’s no way to get back those lost moments of happiness of the past. But I didn’t want to deal with shadows on that day.

 

Tobirama was suspicious of the sake I poured him, but followed my lead and drank it down in one gulp. I patted his back sympathetically as he coughed, and poured him another shot.

 

“Do you want to get us drunk,” he protested, but I just laughed.

 

“That’s exactly what I want. It’s something a man needs to learn.”

 

“What, how to get jelly-brained with alcohol?”

 

“Oh shut up, and drink it.”

 

My brother, when he got drunk - and it really didn’t take much - proved to be surprisingly mellow. We talked about all kinds of nothings late into the night - from his favourite food to a girl he might fancy, techniques he’s working on - keeping away from mentioning Edo Tensei - than getting nostalgic over our family.

 

“I really miss mother,” he said, leaning his head against my shoulder. I pulled him tighter against me- even if my mind was hazy, I appreciated his closeness. When sober, he always kept his distance. “The worst is that I hardly remember her any longer.”

 

“You look a lot like her. Your skin, your hair… even your eyes. She could just probably hold her sake better than you.”

 

He didn’t rise to the bait just smiled at me sadly, so I told all the tails I could drag up from my memory about her. The things she liked, the way she talked to us, her favourite tree, her kind words, her brave smile. I wiped my tears away, hoping Tobirama wouldn’t notice, blaming them on the alcohol.

 

“You know, I really wish she could be there when we’ll manage to form our village. I’ll make a maple grow right in the middle of it, and she’ll know it’s for her.”

 

“Village?”

 

“The shinobi village, where…”

 

“...where children are not forced to kill adults or die by their hands,” he echoed the phrase I told him so many times before. For once I couldn’t hear mocking in his tone.

 

“Wouldn’t it be great?” I prompted softly. “Anyone would be free to join. We could continue our life as shinobi, but we wouldn’t have this madness around us. Those who’re not strong enough would get safer missions. And no seven years olds would die on battlefields.”

 

I fall silent, remembering with painful clarity that day up on the hill where we were planning this with Madara. I suddenly felt I was farther away from our dream than ever before. Maybe I was really wrong all along and there was no way to make it come true…

 

“Yeah,” Tobirama said sluggishly, unaware of my suddenly gloomy mood. “That would be brilliant.” He blinked up at me - he was half-lying against my side by this point, his usually pale face flushed, his normally sharp eyes dreamy. He smiled - an honest smile, not one of his trademark smirks. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, big brother.”

 

Just like that, his drunken praise made me feel a thousand times better. The uncertainties that always haunted me, even though I tried to mask them disappeared with the next cup of sake. I talked about my plans - the dreams we made up together with Madara seven years ago - long into the night, until I noticed Tobirama fell asleep on them at one point. He was still smiling.

 

If not for that drunken evening together, maybe I would have given up on that dream and Konoha would have never been founded. Even if we’ve always kept disagreeing on the means how to achieve and keep peace, I won’t forget that the village is as much Tobirama’s as mine.

 

It was supposed to be a place where our little brothers would be safe, after all.

 

Maybe that’s why Madara could have never accepted it as home. At least, that is a reason I am able to comprehend. Izuna died by the hands of my brother - the conflict of Tobirama being there in safety could have never been undone.

 

Life has the most wicked sense of humor.

  


**MEMORIES**

 

I wonder if everyone has remarkable turning points in their life - the kinds when you recall them later, you can tell for sure that a different decision there would have changed your whole fate.

 

I have a few. Some of them I’m proud of and satisfied with, others...not so much.

 

But that time, that battle against Madara with his ultimatum to pay for his brother's death with my own life or with Tobirama’s - my decision there I wouldn’t change. Even if it didn’t make our life happier in the long run, at least it resulted in temporary joy.

 

I was not afraid to die. If Madara hadn’t stopped me, I would have sunk the blade into my stomach without hesitation and would have gone with a smile on my lips. I didn’t need to think about what I weighed more; his and Tobirama’s life or my own.

 

They say your life flashes before your eyes at the moment you’re about to die. I found that mere second which passed from raising my dagger to Madara grabbing my wrist was enough to recall the best parts of my life.

 

My mother telling me tales on a soft voice. We were sitting under the maple tree, I’m next to her, Tobirama sleeping with his head in her lap. Her tales were full of wonder, of boys going to find their fortune, experiencing all kind of adventures, but in the last moment always coming out of them without any hurt. Nothing was ever impossible for them, they just had to stuck true of their dreams.

 

Exploring a nearby lake with Tobirama, Itama and Kawarama tagging along. At first we were annoyed that they insisted to come with us - especially Itama, who was too young yet, and slowed us down considerably - but we had fun in the end, even if I had to carry one of them all the time. We were exhausted but elated by evening come when we got back to the compound. We had so much fun, as if Tobirama’s and my hands weren’t tainted by blood already.

 

Practicing jutsus, pretending they were for fun and not for killing people. Tobirama cheering for me when I managed to come up with a useful, new Mokuton technique, but making sure to tell me what I would need to do differently to make it even better.

 

Meeting Madara and being bewitched by him. My love and awkward, teenage lusting that was fuelled by the simplest things, like him looking me in the eye, or his hand accidentally brushing against mine. How my whole body ignited, I was high just by knowing I’d see him soon again. How ridiculously easy everything seemed if I was with him.

 

When I was named as the leader of the Senju. How proud I felt for my men’s trust in me. How I vowed to never let them down. The hope I felt for being able to stop the endless war.

 

Tobirama’s eighteenth birthday, when we managed to rebuild some of the lost trust between us. My brother's faith in me that gave me strength to continue on.

 

There was no time for all the rest. All the death, pain, betrayals, failure, despair, doubts. If I had died there, I would have died a happy man, remembering my few, but precious happy moments of my life.

 

But Madara stopped me. Did he also consider this as one of those crucial turning points of his life? _Maybe I should have left you no choice but to kill your brother,_ he told me before he left Konoha, so he surely did. Just where I hold this memory dear, he lived to regret it. It saddens me to this very day. I wish those feeble, short years between that battle and him turning away from me and our childhood dream for good could have lasted longer. But I was too blind and he was too jaded. I wonder if there was any possibility in our faith to end up differently, or if we were always destined to be this way.

 

Still, if I look back now, I can at least add a few more happy memories to my list. That’s not much, but something. That there was a point in our life when Madara wanted me to live, that he wanted to make our dream come true. I saw him smile again. He named our village that we dreamed so long ago. I believed that he’d be next to me always, that I had the time to leisurely secure our friendship and to win his love. The disappointment was bitter, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember that fragile illusion fondly.

 

If I had died that day by my own hand, I would have been poorer with living those moments, so no matter what came after, I hold dear the memory of his gloved hand closing around my wrist.

  


**Dreams**

Ever since I dared to dream about forming a shinobi village – from those days on when we first met with Madara – the river appeared in my dreams. It kept me busy during daytimes too – when I had my precious little free time, I liked to picture myself there with my friend, skipping stones, practicing our skills. It was the best way to pass the time until we could see each other again. At fourteen, I found that mere days seemed like years when I couldn’t be with him.

 

The river and Madara often appeared when I slept too. They were both perfect material for dreams. The water that always seemed to have the capability of washing my sorrows away, could do even more when my subconscious visited it – could carry away the pain and bring joy in its stead. Like the way it carried Madara to me when everything seemed unbearably dreadful. Madara, my gift straight from the divine. In my dreams it was never a question for me that we were made for each other. He wanted me and I wanted him. It was so simple as it could have never been in reality.

 

After our meetings ended so abruptly, my dreams have changed. The river has become a solitary place – awake I couldn’t risk going to our old meeting spot again, and though nothing could keep my spirit away, Madara was never there with me. I just stood on the bank, alone, waiting and waiting for him in vain.

 

As I grew up – as I’m getting older and older with each passing day now – my dreams have kept changing with me, though not in all aspects.

 

“Grandpa, what do you dream about when you sleep?” Tsunade asked me the other day.

 

I told her I dream of everyone being safe in the village, that I’ll be able to protect Konoha as long as I live.

 

That is what my childhood pipedream turned into, after all - me ruling over the village I claimed my dream only, for what I even killed Madara. For what I claimed I’d be ready to kill my brother or my children as well. What other answer could I give?

 

In truth I most often I dream about the river still. I _know_ it to be the river where Madara and I used to meet, which now crosses the boundaries of Konoha, even if it always looks different in my sleep.

 

Sometimes its water is red and thick as blood. Someone is floating down on it, a corpse of a man. He is face down, so I can’t see his features, can’t tell for sure who he is, even if at the same time I know very well his identity.  His long black hair is spread all around like seaweed, wild and untameable even in his death. His dark coat is sliced open at the back, I can see the wound that caused his death through the gash on the garment.

“I have to go home,” I say, “It looks like war has reached this area too in the end.” There’s never anyone with me to answer.

 

Often it’s more pleasant - I walk with my mother and my brothers there. The water is clear, just spotted by rusty, autumn maple tree leaves. We sit down with our back against the trunk and watch as one by one all its canopy fall down and are washed away by the waves.

 

Then I also have the exhausting dreams where I’m standing waist deep in the river, searching and searching endlessly for the stones we threw away. If only I could find them, I could make everything alright. But the water is rising, it keeps pushing me off my feet, until I have to give up on my mission or else I’d drown.

 

And there are the ones I hate waking up from. The ones where I meet Madara as we used to met. Sometimes we are kids, sometimes grown-ups in our prime, and sometimes we’re old, withered men. It doesn’t matter. We still skip stones, joke, spar. Now and then we do other things as well, that we never did in our life. Even if I’m a grandfather now, I still wake from those kinds of dreams aroused.

 

But of course I can’t tell this to a child. It wouldn’t be appropriate and she wouldn’t understand it. I never talk about them to anyone – they are mine alone, whether they are painful or bittersweet. Who alive would know what they mean anyhow? Probably Tobirama would, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear about them.

 

Mito was more honest when our granddaughter asked her the same question. She said she dreams of being a fox that escapes from her cage and runs free. She had her hand on her belly, just above the mark that seals the Kyuubi inside her. Maybe it’s something the beast dreams or maybe she wants that for herself - freedom. I can’t blame her.

 

Tobirama - he just narrowed his eyes and told her he never dreams. I know that to be a lie. I’m well aware of the nightmares that haunt him, that he wakes from them in cold sweat and how they make him lie sleepless for the rest of the night. He never tells me what they are about just as I never share mine, but I’m not surprised he thought they aren’t something a four years old should hear.

 

Tsunade told us she most likes to dream about eating the world’s largest dango. We all agreed we’d love to have that dream too.

 

**Death**

 

When I was seventeen, father died in a battle. The wind technique that sliced his arm off and almost cut him in two was intended for me, but he stepped between me and my opponent. I’ll never know whether I would have been able to block it on my own - whether his sacrifice had been in vain or if he saved my life with his last deed. By the time I killed our foes and kneeled down next to him, he was past saving.

 

“Son,” he grabbed my wrist with the weakening, cold fingers of his remaining hand, leaving one more patch on the dark garment of my shirt which was already stiff with drying blood. “You’re the prodigy of the clan. Lead them, make them conquer victory… Avenge me… Don’t… disappoint.”

 

Those were his last words to me. Don’t disappoint.

 

I remember staring into his dead, expressionless eyes for long moments after his heart stopped beating, wishing in vain he’d said something different. Something about mother or that he’s proud of me. That he’s sorry our relationship ended up like this; so tense, that we were never close. That he thought of me more than a useful weapon for the clan, that we, his sons were important to him, even if he could never show it and he regretted that it was now too late to change that. Then I could have reassured him that it was all right, that I wouldn’t hold a grudge. I could have mourned his death and forgiven him. It was terrible to look down at his maimed body and feel nothing at all just slight annoyance that he’d gone like this. Guilt-ridden relief that he was gone from our life.

 

When Tobirama found us, I simply told him father died protecting me. And, because he was looking so lost and sad, I said that before he passed away he told me he’s really proud of both him and me, and wanted us to look after each other.

 

Brother looked comforted by it, so I wasn’t feeling bad about the lie. I also made a silent promise that I wouldn’t be gone with such last words. It was bad enough to have so many unresolved issues in my life after all, I didn’t want to carry them with me into the grave when my time came to its end. I didn’t want anyone to stare at my lifeless body and realize they never knew me at all, to be happy that they didn’t have to deal with me any longer.

 

I vowed there to live my life better than father had. To let the people, but especially those who were important to me, see who I was. Even if, like my brother, they never quite understood where I was coming from, I wanted to make an effort and try to be open. Talk to them and listen to them. To at least make an attempt to reach mutual understanding.

 

Still, when I was ready to die by my own hands for the sake of my dream, I only spoke of my will - the peace I wanted, that Madara should live. I ordered Tobirama to follow my words, no matter what, and make the peace between Senju and Uchiha come true. At what I believed my last moments, I was concerned only what I deemed the most important, uncaring of anything else, of hurting my brother, of how my clan would cope with my decision, of what would really happen with Madara, after I collapsed.

 

I believe my intentions were better than father’s but I can’t ignore the wound I dealt on my brother’s feelings and on our relationship that day. If with other words and for a cause I hope was nobler, but I was also about leaving something like that _don’t disappoint_ behind.

 

But there’s no changing the past, just as I can’t chance the last words I said to Madara years later or the ones he uttered with his last breath. He died with bitter accusation on his lips. “You have changed, Hashirama,” I still hear his broken whisper on sleepless nights. I wonder if he was right and darkness will envelope my village one day. I know it is living in my heart, after all. That darkness that empowered me to kill my best friend, that made me capable of denying him, even if only for the time necessarily to run my sword though his body. It lives in all of our hearts. Shinobi are creature of war. We can live _more peacefully_ than we used to live, but there’s no real peace for us, I’ve learned that. As long as mankind exists, there will be wars no matter the era. I’m not as naïve as I used to be in my youth to think otherwise. Madara thought me that and my brother never fails to emphasise it either in case I might forget.

 

But I chose this path, so what else is left to do than walk till its end? I’ll protect what I claimed mine as long as I’m here. When my last day will come, I hope I won’t only leave darkness behind. I hope I’ll be able to go with better last words too, if anyone will be there to overhear. A proper farewell to those I love, my family, the people of the village.

 

I’m past my sixtieth birthday. That’s double of the average lifespan of shinobi at the time of my birth. Death doesn’t seem frightening to me, it’s the possibility that my existence was futile that does. I wonder if I’ll see the truth of it from the other side. I hope so. Whatever will be the answer, it should be better than this uncertainty. All these regrets. All that I’d change if it was within my power

 

Oh look, how maudlin I’ve become. Tobirama must be right about me getting old. Brother, I do hope you’ll be there when I’ll say my last words. I’ll want to tell you I’ve always been proud of you. I hope it will make you feel a bit better about me.

  
  
****_FIN_   
  
  
  



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